


Choose Your Family

by pink_champagne



Category: Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: M/M, Mafia AU, Mob Bosses, Post-Serum Steve Rogers, Steve Rogers Has Issues, Stucky - Freeform, Violence, mafia, mob
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-18
Updated: 2020-09-08
Packaged: 2021-03-04 00:15:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 8
Words: 8,488
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24784501
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pink_champagne/pseuds/pink_champagne
Summary: Steve and Bucky have been running the most renowned mob in America together for 21 years. Then when Stark sends a rat, ties, loyalty, and strength are tested.
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers
Comments: 4
Kudos: 29





	1. Chapter 1

Parker was crying. Not even the full crying, where tears streamed from both eyes down onto your lips so you can taste it. Not even the full crying, where snot drool and eyes were puffy and red. It was a pathetic, single teared, half attempt. The couple almost found it offensive. They had met at 16, kissed for the first time six months later, started the business at 17, and signed marriage papers in two seats in city hall on a rainy day at 18. 20 years later, they were the most well-known bosses in America, with connections internationally. In Steve and Bucky’s opinion, that really didn’t seem one tear worthy; to be yelled at by such impressive people.

The kid shook as Steve huffed and turned away from the split chair in the corner of the room. Full of rage, Steve had done what he did best, get a confession, and Parker had given it out of fear. The blond couldn’t even look at him, so Bucky did instead, staring right into his soul, no hesitation in his prolonged gaze. 

Stark had sent the boy to apply and work for the two of them in tech. Dangerous. He’d lasted two days before he’d been figured out. Two days of failure on the bosses’ parts. 

“You know what we have to do, Parker?” Bucky asked, listening as Steve’s brown dress shoes scraped the floor to stand up behind him. It was barely even a question, a mix between one and a statement. The kid nodded, looking down at his own scrawny thighs. Another tear fell out of his other eye. ‘Not a single teared person, then,’ Bucky thought. “Is there anything else you want to say? ‘Could help you get out of this.” It wouldn’t, really, Bucky just wanted to see if he could get more out of him before he was dead.

The kid sucked in his bottom lip, his breathing stuttered as he shook his head. In one smooth motion, Steve pulled his gun out of his chest holster with his right hand, the back of his left hand pressing against Bucky’s right ear to shield his hearing as he shot the gun next to the brunet’s head in one smooth motion. The kid’s head was thrown back as the bullet entered his brain, hands still in his lap as he lay there, Steve tucking a piece of loose hair behind Bucky’s ear as he put the gun back. 

“We should check Shuri, she got close with him fast, I’m hoping she’s not one of Stark’s too… who the fuck hired this kid?” Bucky muttered, pushing the chair back into Steve’s hips as he stood up, dragging it back under the table by his foot pushing the chair leg. 

The couple were both staring at the body, now, like it was an object, a stack of paper on the table that was uneven or an empty, tipped over glass. Twenty years married had unintentionally given them the same facial expressions when reacting to things- mainly enforced through the same thinking they had. “Mr. ‘As Larry’ himself Hogan. I’ll talk to him,” Steve said, turning to the wall to pinch the bridge of his nose.

“Talk? Ain’t like you.” Bucky said with a small chuckle, turning around back to Steve and starting to retie his hair.  
“Yeah, yeah, very funny.” Steve rolled his eyes at the joke but smiled nonetheless, looking down at his hands while slipping on the old silver knuckle rings from his pocket.  
“It’s late, just do a little and leave him there for the night. I’ll see you.” Bucky watched the blond go, patting over Parker’s body for anything else he could find before he left. “Deal with him, I don’t want to hear his name ever again. Take the time out of your shift tomorrow. Tell Wilson I want Shuri in my office at noon.” Bucky gritted at Romanoff as he left, small notebook of Parkers that had been pushed deep in his pocket in hand, and Steve’s suit jacket draped and nesting in his crooked elbow. 

It was one in the morning when Steve came back into the room, blood splatter on his shirt, a mass of the red on his stomach making himself look shot, though it didn’t startle Bucky at all; the man had been shot twice and wouldn’t let it happen again. It hadn’t in twelve years and Bucky figured it really wouldn’t for the rest of their lives. When Steve decided something, it was decided, which is why the brunet braced himself as Steve started to take off his shirt, a smile creeping up and playing on hip lips as Steve crawled overtop of him. 

“There you are,” Steve breathed, kissing him softly with a matched smile, hand holding the side of his face. They didn’t need to talk about the bad days between them, because if there was a reason, the other would always know anyway. For Bucky it was the occasional nightmare, for Steve it was mistakes in other people or himself. There were little bad days for Bucky anymore, they were rare, unlike Steve’s, who’s anger issues kept him at a 8:2 ratio.  
“Hi,” Bucky whispered back.  
“You alright?” Steve asked him, pressing their foreheads together, shoulders dropping the smallest amount in relief as Bucky nodded.

The sex didn’t last long, they knew what they were doing, they knew it was late. One round, but good like it always was, so Bucky could never complain. Steve had pressed play on the Nat King Cole playlist on his phone before settling his glasses on his face and picking up the files, looking over Parker’s again and again to see if he could have stopped this from happening. Bucky was pressed his side, warm bodies together with his head back on the arm Steve had wrapped over his shoulders.

“How was that kid so smart yet-”  
“Gotta stop calling him a kid, he was 21.” Steve murmured, hand coming out of Bucky’s hair to tilt the notebook in the man’s hand up so he could read it. “God, maybe you should. Hand writing’s fucking atrocious, what does that say?” He thumbed underneath a scrawled note in the corner of the page.  
“First file to be sent by August 10th.”  
“It’s the 8th.”  
“I know.” Bucky told him, tilting the book back down. There was silence, and Steve’s hand moved back to Bucky’s shoulder, rubbing over the raised scars. “This is the calm before the storm, huh?” He asked, voice dropped and low. The two knew this feeling all too well.  
“Stark’s always been envious, I’m surprised it took him this long.” Steve noted.  
“Or we only caught him this time.”  
“Don’t.” The grip on Bucky’s shoulder tightened before loosening in the span of two seconds. “8pm: team meeting. We figure out a basic plan beforehand.”  
“I know.” Bucky sighed, closing the book and rolling out of Steve’s arm to put the book on their nightstand, turning the light off. “Get some sleep.”


	2. Chapter 2

It was Steve that turned off the alarm clock on Bucky’s nightstand, rolling overtop of him to hit the top of the clock. He pressed snooze. Again and again, hitting the clock and lying back down over Bucky who, within his sleep, hugged onto the man, before the blond finally decided they’d probably slept long enough to arrive downstairs at the end of breakfast. He turned the clock off, falling back down on Bucky, pausing for a moment before mouthing at Bucky’s neck to wake up.  
“Good morning,” Bucky groaned, pushing Steve off of him with the back of his arm.  
“You snored.” Steve complained, carding through Bucky’s hair as he sat himself up, rubbing over his face with his free hand.  
“Shoulda flipped me.” He shut his eyes but kept awake, hand holding on Steve’s thigh under the covers, thumb brushing back and forth. The two of them stayed like that; part of their morning routine had become a gradual awakening, something to ground Steve for the day- his doctor had said. Bucky listened to every word doing what he needed while seemingly keeping to himself. The rest of the routine started after 10 minutes or so, Bucky showering while Steve shaved, Bucky drying his hair as Steve showered, and they were heading downstairs, Bucky trailing behind Steve and disbanding to knock on Shuri’s door.

“What’s wrong?”  
“Why do you always assume something’s wrong?” Bucky asked, leaning against the doorframe.  
“Because you’re the grim reaper and we all heard the gunshot last night.”  
“You know who I was with?”  
“I don’t want to be right.” Shuri said, still holding the door, her room a mess behind her.  
“Stark sent him.” There was a silence, something Bucky had never heard around Shuri. “Whatever you had going on with him, I just want to-”  
“Nothing went on.” She was blunt and snappy at him.  
“Watch your tone, I know what you get like when you’re mad at yourself.”  
“I should have known-”  
“Yeah, probably.” Bucky sighed, eyebrow raising at the glass pipe on the drawer behind her. “Is that a bong?”  
Shuri snapped her head back, looking through the room. “That’s a science beaker.”  
Bucky didn’t respond, not even twitching at his own stupidity. “I’ll see you at noon. Eat before then.” 

Bucky walked down the stairs of the manner, clean job gear on. He rarely wore suits like Steve; black shirts and black cargo pants, Steve looking professional in his two-piece. Not to say they didn’t appreciate the daily uniforms of each other, but it always made either of them smile and keep their gaze when the other wore vice versa- Bucky loved when Steve’s arms were out, Steve loved Bucky in a tie. 

“Coffee, Buck, please.” Steve asked from his position standing at the head of the dining table, fingertips touching against the dark oak as he caught the eyes of his other half entering the kitchen. Bucky didn’t respond, the pulling of two mugs out of the cupboard being enough of an answer. “You’re all wondering where Parker is.” He muttered, clearing his throat to glance around the table at his core team. “Stark had the nerve to send a rat our way in the form of a 21 year old. From what we know, he hasn’t sent out any information, it seems to me his first report was to be sent out tomorrow. We have until 6pm of that day to figure out our attack.”  
“Who the hell says we need to attack?” Clint asked.  
“Barton! I didn’t hire you to be a fucking idiot. Stark already initiated his first attack when he sent a goddamn barely pubescent boy our way to spy! Do you understand, Barton?”  
“Coffee.” Bucky chimed.  
“Thank you.” Steve said, voice dropping as he took the coffee out of the man’s hand.  
“What about you, Barnes? Have you two talked about this?” Romanoff asked, turning to look at Bucky as he sat down at the empty head of the table.  
“We don’t need to.” They didn’t, being together so long meant they now thought in the same way. Mostly. “I’ll be talking to Shuri later today about sending a response to Stark encrypted in an empty file signed off by Parker. Everyone’s dismissed. Go, finish up as much as you can today.” 

Everyone filed out, taking dirty plates, bowls, and cups to the sink to get cleaned later. Bucky and Steve stared at their coffee, both on either end of the long, sturdy table. Natasha had insisted on centrepieces, and the two had refused to, the flower arrangements or tall candles she had recommended would have obscured their faces from each other.  
“I really don’t want to-”  
“I know, Buck.” Steve sighed.  
“He’s- fuck, Steve, I just want to know why, we haven’t fought with him in almost 10 years.”  
“Some sort of uprising, maybe…”  
“I thought he’d settled down? Come to terms with his position on the hierarchy?” Bucky asked, looking up from his coffee and staring at Steve, Stark’s parents car crash deep in the back of his mind.  
“You really want to try to talk to him?” Steve hissed under his breath, catching his gaze.  
“Didn’t you say I was the peacekeeper between us?”  
“Doesn’t mean shit when the guy tries to spy on us.”  
“Don’t get so upset this could save us a lot of men, Steve! Honestly-” Bucky huffed  
“We could get ourselves killed in the process of look like losers-”  
“Losers. Really?” 

Steve’s face was turning red, pink creeping up from his neck to his ears and bleeding into his face from his jaw. “Don’t. We didn’t get to the top by being nice.”  
“And look at us now.”  
“Nothing’s wrong with us now.” Steve said, slamming his coffee mug down.  
“You can’t place a fucking cup down normally Steve, look at yourself. I regret-”  
“Aren’t you the one who preaches to ‘let go of regret’ how ‘you can’t change the past?’ Fucking hypocrite like always.”  
“Steve!” Bucky yelled, standing up, his chair scraping against the wooden floor.  
“Look me in the eye and tell me you regret having 2.8 billion in the bank, how you regret this beautiful house we built, with perfect cars, and healthy workers and a stocked fridge.” Steve stared at the brunet with the same fire they’d had in their eyes at 16, huddled together in candlelight because they couldn’t afford the electricity.  
“When I looked up to my father in this business...” Bucky said, voice quiet as he looked up at the insane chandelier above the table, “I just think I idolized it so much, that even when his head showed up on my front doorstep, I still thought I could turn this place into something better. I guess I’m an idiot for being so hopeful.”  
“Don’t talk to him, Buck, he’ll take that as a huge green light that we’ve slowed down.”  
“I can’t hurt to try, Steve-”  
“Buck.” Steve’s voice was now demanding, sinking Bucky into his seat as the blond stood up.  
“Fine.” He reluctantly agreed, pulling his phone out under the table once Steve passed and left the room. 

[to: Stark]

We need to talk. I'll come to you. 2100. JB


	3. Chapter 3

“I heard you don’t want trouble,” Tony said, shutting the meeting room door behind him and looking at Bucky who was leaning back against the wall, arms crossed. “It’s good of you to see me.”

“You just came from Miami, huh?” Bucky asked, shoving his hands in his pockets, feeling singled out without Steve by his side. Guilt was in his stomach, boiling away. 

Stark made his way over to the drink cabinet, squatting down to pick. “My Uncle works there. Tailor.” He stood up, pouring a finger or two of scotch in a glass, “you know what that means? Means every stitch is stitched with blood. I heard you dress well, Mr Barnes…” Bucky watched as the man turned back around, eyeing him up and down before sitting on the head of the table. “But now I see… Not so well as me.”

Bucky stared at him in silence, the suit on his suddenly itching. “You know I have Uncles as well. But they’re not the sort of men who would work in a basement with a needle and thread.”

Tony looked back up to the man, keeping eye contact as he took a sip from his glass, leaning on his free arm. He offered an awkward smile after a pause, “I’m surprised how easy it was to get in a room with you.” 

A soft click and the gun was already cocked at the end of Bucky’s hand, “and now?” He asked. 

“And now…” Tony said, taking a long sip of his drink before setting it down. “And now you should know that during the trouble you had in your little interrogation room earlier with Parker, I sent an accomplice into your office in overalls. He found your gun,” pulling his suit jacket open and reaching into the inside pocket, he dropped a handful of bullets into his other hand, “and unloaded it.” 

Bucky dropped the gun, checking the barrel before looking back up, jaw slightly set to the side. 

“Steve Rogers.” Stark said, placing one of the bullets on the table. “Natasha Romanoff.” Another. 

“Sam Wilson.

“Wanda Maximoff.

“Pietro Maximoff.” With the, Stark pushed the bullet down with the tip of his fingers, flicking it across the table, the bullet rolling down to Bucky’s feet. “Already spent.” Bucky but the inside of his cheek as he remembered the boy, the bullet in his back now confirmed being from Stark.

“Clint Barton.

“And finally: Bucky Barnes.”

He pushed himself up to stand, pointing at Bucky. “None of you will survive. Not even the rest of them, the other ones I don’t care about: Danver, Lang… Your level of security is pitiful. And we are an organization of a different dimension.” He looked to the other man as he moved to the window, breaking his gaze to peek through the blinds. “I could have killed you when I walked through the door. But you see, I want you to be the last. Begging for a truce isn’t going to help. I want you to be alive after your entire family’s dead. ‘Cause my Mother said, that is what will hurt you the most. And wouldn’t you know all about that?”

Bucky kept his eyes locked onto Stark's, the feeling of the man’s mother’s neck still in his hand. Steve was always the talker, Steve was always quick with his tongue. Bucky didn’t know what to say. 

“And I want to suggest to you that we fight this.. Vendetta with honor.”

Bucky slowly placed his gun down on the table, now in deeper shit than ever knowing Stark had waited exactly 10 years after his parents death. Exactly ten years to build up his reputation. “No civilians. No children-”

“No police.” Tony reminded him, cocking his finger. 

“Far from Miami now, Mr Stark.”


	4. Chapter 4

“Where’s Barnes?” Steve asked, sticking his head into Natasha’s office. She gave him a blank stare. “He’s usually on break by now. Comes and sits with me.” He explained.

“Just sits?” Natasha asked with a raised eyebrow, muting her phone and pulling the pen out of her teeth to look up at the blond.   
“That’s not important.”  
“I’m in the middle of something, you know.” She said.  
“Who?”  
“Shostakov.”  
Steve let out a small chuckled, shaking his head, “and when did you divorce him?”  
“That’s not important. I haven’t seen Barnes, anyway.”  
“Ask around Romanoff, he’s not one to not answer his phone, he’s practically glued to that thing.” The man told her before leaving.

The city, in their job, was alive at night. It involved late starts in the afternoon and going to bed right before the crack of dawn. Outsiders mostly found it ridiculous, but everyone who worked for them were used to it, and Steve was used to Bucky slipping into his office door and snaking his arms around him from behind.

Hours later and Steve was pacing, Natasha sitting in the armchair by the phone with her legs crossed as she waited for a ransom call. 

“How long’s it been?” Steve asked, looking up to the redhead and staring over as she checked her watch.  
“10:02, 216 minutes since his last witness.”   
“What is that… over three hours? Fu-” Steve whipped his head around as the front door opened, Bucky shuffling in wearing a suit, and usually he would have pinned the man up against the wall for a different reason. “Fuck you!” He screamed, the potted plant by the door Wanda had bought tipping over and breaking as Steve’s hands came up under Bucky’s underarms, holding him high against the wall. “Think you’re so slick, huh? Going behind my back? Tell me what he said. Now!”   
“He shot Maximoff! Pietro.” Bucky yelled back, raising his volume to match Steve’s which happened once in a blue moon. “He knows I killed his parents! I’m going to surrender-”  
“Like fucking hell you will, Buck, Jesus…” Steve grunted, dropping Bucky down and stepping away. “You idiot! You’re always trying to find the good in people since Rebecca died, Buck. You’re sister was an alcoholic, coke addicted, whor-” 

Bucky didn’t hesitate to pull himself up from his crumpled form on the floor and smack Steve across the face, Natasha standing up in the corner of his eye in case things increased. Steve shut his mouth, face red as he stared at Bucky. “If I couldn’t stop a fight I wanted to at least know why it was starting.” Bucky muttered. 

There was a silence that echoed around the room, out of the corner of his eye, Steve could see Sam at the bottom of the stairs watching, adding even more to the awkward atmosphere. “You never lie to me.” Steve whispered back, his tone expressing a feeling of betrayal.

Fights between them never lasted long. Natasha said it was because they were too in love to hold grudges. The person in the wrong would sleep on the couch, they’d both stay awake all night replaying everything and missing the other. And by morning, they went out for breakfast with each other and moved past it. 

“I’m sorry,” Bucky replied, brushing past the man to head up the stairs.   
“Couch.” Steve said back, louder so Bucky behind him could hear.   
“I’m grabbing a fucking blanket!” Bucky yelled, one foot on the staircase before the alarm went off, everyone instantly dropping out of site from the windows.   
“The fuck?” Steve muttered to himself, crawling across the living room and into the kitchen, sitting back and leaning against the cabinets as he opened his phone. Bucky joined him, scrambling up to his side and watching Steve as he checked the security cameras. “Shit.”

On the screen showed Stark’s men at the gate, cars driving into the metal barred barriers, people on foot climbing over, guns in hands.


	5. Chapter 5

“Do you have your gun?” Steve asked, turning to kneel in front of Bucky and feeling over him for a weapon, pulling the small knife strapped to Bucky’s ankle to defend himself on the way to better weapons.  
“Empty.” Bucky said, pulling it out from the holster around his chest.  
“Empty?” Steve asked, brows furrowing as he paused.  
“Don’t ask,” he replied, pushing himself up and running low until he was heading down the stairs into the weapons room, picking a gun up and shoving a magazine in, a new knife in his other hand.  
“Vest, Buck.” Steve said, pulling his shirt off over his head as more people raced into the room.  
“I got like twenty buttons, there’s no time.”  
“Jesus, Buck-” Steve tried to call out but the man had already left the room. “He’s pissed at me.” He muttered to Natasha, pulling his shirt on.  
“You’re pissed at him, aren’t you?” She asked, leaving before he could reply. 

It was dark and cold outside, and Carol hit the lights to illuminate the parking lot as Bucky pulled his jacket off. Steve started to shoot, hitting two men as they climbed the fence and watching them fall. Men behind him were running past him, and he looked around for Bucky and failed to find him. Bucky’s idea of mandatory shooting range practice three times a week had now come in hand. 

Steve let out a grunt as he was hit over the head behind him, reaching back to elbow the man in the face. He turned around, pulling him closer by the back of the neck and hitting his knee into the other’s stomach before throwing him to the ground, kicking down on his head before another started to make his way to him, slashing across his shoulder with a small knife. Steve kicked him forward, pushing his leg and foot forward with his legs for more power and watching him stumbled and fall backwards. An arm was wrapped around his neck and Steve let out a yell, his arms pinned back by more hands than one person. He kicked a knee to his right, his right hand coming free for Steve to punch him in the face, doing the same to his other side as it got hard to breathe and catching Sam running towards him. He pulled himself forward and bent, flipping the man behind him over. The blond dropped to his knees to gasp for more air, Sam dealing with the man in front for him. 

“You alright man?” Sam asked, holding out a hand for Steve and pulling him up.  
“Yeah, yeah,” Steve said between breaths, “where’s Bu-” He was cut off by a yell he knew all too well and hated. A sound that made his blood boil, and Steve whipped his head around to see Natasha hunching to the side, leaning back and shooting the man behind her in the head. “Fuck, Nat.” 

He ran over, holding out for the woman as she held onto his shoulder, clutching her side. “You’re okay, you’re okay. Keep it, there, yeah.” Steve flustered, holding his hand over Natasha’s and looking out as Clint made his way over. “Get her inside, Wilson, cover them.”

Bucky was on the other side of the car park, shooting until no one new was driving up the road towards him, catching another magazine and reloading his gun. He pointed it up to the last car before lowering it as he spotted Stark getting out.  
Stark has lost a lot already. Most of his men now, and soon it would be all of them. There was a new gaze in his eyes as he walked closer to Bucky. “as I promised, no cops, no children, now civilians.”  
Bucky didn’t reply and he flipped the gun in his hands, holding it by the barrel and bringing his arm up to bring down and hit the man in the head. There was a shot that rang a little too loud, enough for Steve to hear. 

The blond’s bloodied hands from Natasha's wound were no longer his concern as he watched the back of Bucky’s white shirt turn red, and he was running towards Stark, who still had his gun pressed up against Bucky’s abdomen, before he even realized. 

“Vendetta my ass.” Bucky huffed, feeling his legs shaking underneath him and bringing his gun up to shoot the man he knew as Stark’s right hand in the lower back as he was heading to the car. Tony turned and ran to Rhodey, pulling him up into the car and screaming as the men who remained alive started to flee. 

Bucky tried to fall, wishing to hit his head as he landed before he could feel the pain, but Steve’s arms were there wrapping around him and pulling him away. The heels on his shoes dragged against the concrete of the car park as Steve started to breathe heavy, adjusting his arms to carry him up the stairs. 

“Where’s Nat? Steve- Nat. Where is she?” Bucky started to blubber, looking around for her.  
“She’s inside, Buck, c’mon.” Steve said, trying to remain calm as he got them into the reception of the house.  
“No. No! No, no don’t lay me down, I don’t wanna lay down!”  
“Get a fucking medic! Get Bruce! Don’t call a fucking ambulance! We’ve got fifty bodies out front!” Steve yelled, his face red as he lay down Bucky on the rug that cost more than rent. People had begun to yell, Thor pulling a jacket off of the coat hanger by the door and bundling it under Bucky’s head.

Bucky’s shirt was not almost fully red, Steve’s hands the same stained color up and over his wrists. “Steve,” Bucky said, pupils blown.  
“Yeah? Yeah, what’s up sweetheart, what’s up? What’s going on?” Steve asked while keeping pressure on Bucky’s wound, his free hand up on Bucky’s face to calm him.  
“I wanna go- I wanna go home. I wanna go home.”  
“Carol, hold the wound.” Steve grunted, pressing down on the woman's hands on Bucky’s stomach to make sure the pressure was there before holding his husband’s head in his hands.

The two were never like this with the team, it usually took months, or even years in some cases before new recruits realised the two of them were even married. No pet names, no showers of affection, a gentle touch or a passing by kiss, it was never anything more than business outside of their privacy. Now the consoling and clinging to each other scared Shuri as she slid down a wall, trying to control her breathing from a blow to the stomach. 

“We are home, darling? Okay, we’re home, we’re here, we’re inside.” Steve was starting to panic now, his hands shaking as he looked up at the group who were still guarding the door.  
“No, this isn’t home. I wanna go home, love.” Bucky choked, starting to cry. Steve shut his eyes and pressed his forehead against the brunet’s knowing exactly what he wanted, but the old apartment they grew up in was gone, the street had turned into some big market building. The people they used to be were dead, they would hide for the rest of their lives because of their job. Steve opened his eyes, seeing Bucky’s were closed. 

“Baby, hey. Bucky. Buck, look at me in the eyes. James. Look at me!” He yelled, Bucky letting out a pained groan as the blond lifted his head up with bloodied hands. “That’s it… that’s it. Strange is here, look. Strange is here, baby. You’re gonna be okay.”  
“It’s okay. It’s okay, Steve. My darling.” Bucky spoke, Stephen running down the hall to them. “I love you.”  
“I love you.” Steve kissed him, squeezing his own eyes shut and unwilling to pull away. “I love you too.” 

Stephen was quick to grab Bucky and run, getting him down stairs to the ward. Steve didn’t follow. He couldn’t, he would probably pass out, his legs wouldn’t keep up, he’d be kicked out anyway and forced to watch his husband die through a piece of plexiglass. So he stayed there on his knees, panting and covered in his husband’s blood while staring at it soaked into the rug.


	6. Chapter 6

Natasha had woken up the next morning, Bucky hadn’t. He was still breathing, Sam continued to remind him, still breathing. 

“Good morning.” Wanda said softly, nudging her boss awake from the couch in the living room, placing a coffee on the side table within reach for the blond. Steve let out a grunt as he twitched, opening his eyes before he pushed himself up and grabbed the coffee. “What’s so wrong with your bed?” She asked, sitting down on the armchair.  
“Too cold.” Steve muttered.  
“I can order an electric blanket.”  
Steve scowled at her, sipping his coffee and wishing she understood what it was like to share a bed with someone for twenty years and then not, instead finding it easy to pretend they were in an argument and Bucky was up there sound asleep but pissed off at him. “You take the night shift?”  
“Yeah. I visited him.”  
“How is he?”  
“How he’s always been. Dr Banner asked me to ask about your stitches?”  
Steve looked down, pulling the neck of his shirt away to check the bandage over his chest where he’d been sliced. Sure enough it had bled through the gauze overnight. “It’s fine.” He muttered.  
“Show me, then.” Wanda asked, raising her eyebrows.  
“Maximoff.”  
“Steve.”  
“You shouldn’t be calling me that, you know.” He sighed, pushing himself up and smoothing down his hair before he headed towards the ward. 

“Weren’t you on night shift? Should you be heading to bed?”  
“I’m making sure you’re heading where I hope you are.” Wanda said, taking the elastic from her hair and starting to undo her braid.  
“I don’t need babysitting. You’re almost 15 years younger than me.”  
“Then I’m taking care of the elderly.”  
That made Steve chuckle, wrapping an arm around Wanda’s shoulder and pulling her into his side, “you know you’re probably the only recruit here I like.”  
“What about Romanoff? Wilson?”  
“Eh, they aren’t really recruits, I’m talking about the rest of you lot.” Steve said, talking into Wanda’s hair.  
“What makes me so special?”  
“You remind me of Natasha, and Buck. Lucky mix of both.”  
“Lots of potential then.” Wanda replied.  
“Yeah, exactly. Right, head off now.” Steve said, standing up straight as they got downstairs, spinning Wanda around by the shoulder and patting her back to push her the other way as he made his inside the ward.

“Rogers.” Banner said, stepping out of his office and pulling his white coat on.  
“Dr Banner.” Steve cleared his throat, shoving his hands in his pockets and looking around.  
“What’s up? Stitches or a visit?”  
“I’m hoping both, there’s been no work for days, the city’s quiet.”  
“The two elites are in limbo, of course it is.” Bruce replied, leading Steve into his office. The blond sat down on the bed by the wall, pulling his shirt off. “Alright, let’s have a look…” The doctor muttered, pulling away the gauze taped on the boss’ skin.  
“How is he?” Steve asked after a gulp.  
“Uh… the same, nothing’s healing, but nothing’s getting worse. Guess he’s in limbo like you.”  
Steve let out a huff, looking up so tears wouldn’t form in his eyes, “and Natasha?”  
“Good, very well. I should be able to take her home today, she’s walking around, hard to keep her still, you know her.”  
“That’s good.”  
“Yeah, it is.” 

Bruce examined the cut, a stitch broken and open. He pulled it out gently, showing Steve the needle before injecting it into the skin next to the wound, numbing the pain. “It’s up to him to decide whether he wants to live or die, I’ve done everything I can.”  
“That’s…”  
“It’s good, you think he’d want to leave you? All of this?”  
Steve looked down finally, watching Bruce get the suture kit ready, “I don’t know. There’s always doubt whether we’ve done the right thing. He could have been a pianist. I could have been a painter.”  
“Hell of a different life.”  
“Yeah.” Steve chuckled, lying down on the bed and watching Bruce as he started to stitch. There was a long silence as it continued, Bruce constantly wiping the blood away as he stitched.  
“It must be tough.” The doctor spoke, Steve snapping out of his daydream.  
“What?”  
“On a personal note, Steve. It must be tough. I felt that with Natasha, the uncertainty, for a split second. You’ve had it for days.”  
“He’ll live.”  
“Yeah. Of course. I’m just-”  
“He’ll live, what’s the big deal? I’m just waiting.” Steve snapped, looking back up at the ceiling.  
“Well, waiting’s tough.” Bruce sighed.

Steve went to get changed before seeing Natasha, showering and washing his hair, forcing himself to clean up, trimming the stubble on his neck that was already turning into a beard.  
“You look like shit.” The redhead spoke, flipping her hair to one side as Steve entered. She was up, packing up her clothes from the dresser in the room onto the suitcase on top.  
“You know what, Romanoff…”  
“I’m kidding, nice to see you clean.” She smiled, stepping towards him and kissing his cheek, wiping at his stubble afterwards. “Cleanish. You growing a beard?”  
“Looks like it.”  
“I saw him last night.”  
“You did?” Steve asked, sitting down on the chair by the dresser, crossing his legs.  
“Everyone’s seen you hurt enough times you’re almost as bad as Clint. Barnes is usually just… careful. It’s odd to see him like that; in pain, clinging on.”  
“Yeah.”  
“You alright?” Natasha asked, looking down at him. Steve gulped and nodded, resting his head back on the wall.  
“I haven’t seen him.”  
“At all?”  
“Can’t bring myself to.”  
“Steve…”  
“Don’t, Nat.” He sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “All hooked up to everything in bed? God… how am I meant to deal with that?”  
“He’s done it a lot for you.”  
“Well he’s a hell of a lot stronger than me. I can’t deal with my problems, I get them out with anger.”  
Natasha held out her hands, holding Steve’s in hers and brushing over the grazing on his knuckles. “Bruce could clean these.”  
“Is he taking care of you?”  
“What?”  
“Is Bruce taking care of you?”  
A small smile formed on Natasha’s face, the corners of her lips upturning, “yeah. Yeah, he is.”  
“That’s good.”  
“Promise me you’ll see him, he needs you there. Bring Wilson with you, if it helps.”  
“Maybe.” Steve muttered, watching as Natasha brought his hands up to kiss his knuckles.  
“I’ve never seen you like this. You’re reserved, bit needy, less snappy, softer. The ‘Boss’ guard is down.”  
“Well, the city’s been quiet.’  
“I know.”

Natasha let Steve’s hand drop to pack the rest of her things. “Thor came and visited me, told me about you and Buck in the reception hall.”  
“Fucking everyone’s talking about it. They’re whispering as if I don’t know what it’s about.”  
“He called your love ‘beautiful.’”  
“Jesus.”  
Wish I could have seen it for myself, you two are never like that.”  
“Well I don’t really give a shit anymore, Natasha. He could have died and I could have spent over half my life sitting on the other side of the table from him, acting like we weren’t fucking married when we are, for who?” Steve huffed and shifted in his seat.  
“Thought it was for protection?” Natasha asked, zipping up her bag.  
“We’re married for fuck’s sake. If they wanted to take him, they would.” Steve told her, standing up and holding her bag for her. “Besides, I’m never letting him out of my sight again.”  
Natasha laughed, and Bruce entered the room, kissing the woman’s forehead gently and whispering in her ear. He looked around and caught a glance of the bag in Steve’s hand, taking it off of him  
“Why did you laugh?” Steve asked, crossing his arms.  
“Because look where you are, Steve. Look where you haven’t been for the past four days.” She raised her eyebrow at him before leaving the room, following Bruce.


	7. Chapter 7

“Sam.” 

Sam paused his video game, ignoring the ‘dude, what the fuck?’ from Clint and turning around to stare at his boss on the couch. “Steve.” He caught a glimpse of the flowers in the blond’s hand, an expensive amount of yellow tulips for the middle of winter and a leather shoulder bag. He figured it out in seconds, the way Steve was standing, chewing at the inside of his cheek, and picking at his fingernails. “Yeah, okay. Absolutely.” He said with a smile and dropped his controller onto Clint’s lap, following Steve out of the room. “You alright, man?”  
“Have you seen him yet?”  
“Yes.”   
“When?”   
“Um… I saw Strange bring him in, and then when I left Romanoff he’d just gotten put in his room. Saw him again before dinner late night.” Sam told him and shoved his hands in his pockets.  
“And?”  
“And what?”  
“What does he look like?” Steve didn’t look at him, only straight ahead and down the hallway.  
Sam shut his mouth for a moment to think, “pale. He's taller than me but he looks small. Maybe it’s because the big personality’s gone.” 

Everything felt dull without Bucky, not just to Steve, but to everyone.   
“Can he breathe on his own?” Steve asked.  
“Not from when I saw him yesterday.”  
“Fuck. So what? Breathing tube?”  
“Yeah.”  
“I hate those things.”  
“Well you’ve choked on them enough times not to like it.” Sam said, giving Steve a light nudge in his side, “how’s your stitches?”   
“Fine. Healing.”  
“Wanda says you’ve been sleeping on the couch.”  
Steve scoffing, wrapping his arms around the flowers against his chest, “can’t sleep without him.”  
“There’s a couch in his room.”  
“Really?” Steve asked, stopping in front of the door to Bucky’s room, Sam stepping forward and opening it for him.

The first thing Steve laid his eyes on was the couch, and Sam watched as his eyes traveled across the room to the bed, Bucky lying there, but not really. It didn’t look like him. “So there is,” he croaked, looking back at the couch and lifting his head up and he walked in. People had already had the same idea as him, flowers scattered in vases around the room, but none of Bucky’s favorite. “Can you find something to put these in?” Steve asked the other man, pushing the bouquet into his hands and listening as Sam left. 

He hesitantly stepped closer to his husband, dragging a chair closer to the bed with his foot. “Hey, you. Troublemaker.” Steve murmured, kissing the man’s head and ignoring the tube down his throat and held in place by the tape down his cheeks. “Sorry it took so long.” The blond sat himself down and rested the bag on the floor, digging through it for some of Nat’s hand cream he’d stolen. Sam entered again with the tulips in a white vase, watching as Steve massaged Bucky’s hand calmly. “His left arm gets stiff in the cold. Hand get’s sore.” The sitting man explained, playing with Bucky’s fingers carefully, minding the IV line in the back of his hand.

The beeping of the heart monitor settled Steve slightly, reminding him Bucky was alive even if it didn’t look like it. “How are you feeling?” Sam asked, sitting on the other side of Bucky and looking over the brunet’s chest to his boss.   
“Could’ve lost him.” Steve said, not taking his eyes off of Bucky.  
“That’s right.”  
“I would’ve regretted a lot if he’d died.”  
“Yeah?” Sam asked, watching as Steve nodded, “what are those things?”  
“Our last conversation was an argument. Called his sister a whore.”   
“Uh huh.”  
“I felt like… I never got to express how I really felt about him, we got those few hours together a day, but then… I don’t know.” Steve muttered, shaking his head and massaging Bucky’s forearm. “I have so much love for him. And we hide it. Originally it was… well, fuck, 20 years ago was a different time, we needed recruits, it was about our personal lives. But now we all live together, and we’re a family. And then you think of the rats, or the spies, what if they see? What if they know?”  
“Wedding ring says a lot.”  
“It does.” Steve huffed, leaning back into his chair. “He’s always asking me about this. ‘To keep us safe’ I keep saying.”  
“I think... “  
“It’s the enemies last priority? We’re both in the front line?”  
Sam hummed as a response, nodding.  
“Took me a bullet in my husband’s abdomen to realize.”

Sam looked down at Bucky, thinking of the fleeting moments he’d seen, passing Bucky’s office, seeing Steve sitting on the man’s desk with his feet on the seat either side of the brunet’s thighs, Bucky looking up at him with a smile, his hands on the back of Steve’s calves. How he’d always see the shadows of them leaning towards each other for a routine kiss before they got out of the car together. How they’d talk to each other with their eyes, come back from vacations as new men, how they’d spent most of their relationship ignoring the fact they had one in front of their own men. 

“Couldn’t imagine.” Sam replied, looking back up to see Steve now pressing his thumbs into Bucky’s biceps, circling slowly to massage the muscle. “There’s bedding in one of the cupboards for later tonight if you want it.” He informed him, standing up.  
Steve leaned down and kissed his husband’s shoulder, looking over to the cupboard across from him, “okay. Thanks. I’ll uh… head up to my office soon. Thank you, Sam.”  
“It’s no problem, Steve, call if you need.” He said solemnly, leaving as quietly as possible.

“Just me and you, darling. Alone again.” Steve hummed, dropping his head back to stare at the ceiling. “If this is your way of getting me to sleep on the couch instead of you, you’ve succeeded beautifully.” He managed a chuckle at his own joke before he leaned over to stroke Bucky’s hair. “Take all the time you need, Buck. All the time you need, just promise me you’ll come back. Come back, I miss those gorgeous eyes.” He sat back and sketched quietly, losing track of time until he checked his phone, realizing dinner was already half way through.

“I love you.” Steve said, kissing Bucky’s cheek, leaving his bag on the floor. “I’ll be back.”


	8. Chapter 9

The kitchen and dining room was more alive than the past few days, something changed now the news Steve had finally visited Bucky had spread around the house. “Shouldn’t you be sitting?” Steve asked softly as he stepped behind the kitchen island, his hand on the lower part of Natasha’s back.   
“Wanted seconds.” She replied, craning her neck to look back at the table before reaching up, Steve bending down so his ear met her mouth.   
“Stark’s second, guy called James Rhodes, army guy. Bucky shot him in the back. They went to a private hospital, I’m assuming they don’t have the facilities we do, I mean it’s great-”  
“Get on with it, Nat.” Steve ordered, empty plate in hand.   
“Paralyzed, waist down. That’s why there’s been nothing from him.”  
“Yeah, not to fucking mention we shot most of his men.”  
“He’s taking his time to get more.” Natasha added, pulling away and leaning against the counter.   
“You think that’s it, then?” Steve asked, starting to pile rice on his plate.  
“That’s what I thought, I had Clint spy at their docks this morning.”  
“And?”  
“More weapons. Explosives.”  
Steve’s hand stopped moving, and he paused for a moment before plating the chicken. “He’s compensating with grenades, what a fucking-”  
“Bigger than that.” Natasha cut in, Steve slamming his plate down on the counter. He looked up as the table in front of them quietened down, most people now staring at him.  
“Have they been transported yet?” He asked, turning to look at the woman.  
“Not yet, I’ll let you know when they do.”

Steve nodded, watching carefully as Natasha made her way to sit down. He still couldn’t pull himself to sit and stare at an empty chair across the table, so he did what he’d done for most meals the past three days, bent over the island and watched the team while he ate, shovelling food into his mouth without Bucky to mouth at him to slow down. Once he was done it was only a matter of time before he made his way back down to Bucky, walking down the hallways, down the steps to the ward. His brows furrowed at the sight of Sharon rushing past him to the room that contained his husband, and peeking inside the door when he opened it, he could only see Strange towering over Banner. He stayed quiet, sitting down by the entrance of the ward numb. 

“When did you get here?” Strange asked looking down at Steve.  
“What?” Steve asked, looking up and coming back to reality.  
“When did you get here? Did someone tell you?”  
“Is he dead?”  
“No.” Stephen replied, crossing his arms, “he’s awake, actually.”   
Steve’s immediate reflex was to stand, stumbling a little, but standing tall next to the man.  
“How is he?”  
“Recovering. Tired. The wound is healing, internal stitches are doing perfectly, I wouldn’t expect anything less from my own suture techniques. External stitching is also good. He needs rest, though, nothing more.”  
Steve let out a scoff, “just like that?” He asked, causing Stephen to chuckle.   
“Yeah just like that.” 

Steve knocked before entering, opening the door with a soft click and shutting it behind him. “You’re something else, you are.” He said, a beaming smile on his face.  
“Well, you know me.” Bucky croaked, voice dry and cracking but awake and looking at his own hands in amazement.  
“God, Buck.” Steve sighed, stepping forward and taking the man’s face in his hands, kissing his forehead, both his cheeks, and then his lips chaste. “You scared me.”  
“I’m sorry,” Bucky hummed, eyes flicking around the room as Steve sat himself down as close as he could, feeling a familiar grip on his hands.   
“Nothing to be sorry about. Nothing at all.” Steve replied as he leaned forward and rested his chin on the side of Bucky’s chest. “How do you feel?”  
“Tired, like the middle part of me isn’t even there. Just a head with some shoulders and legs.”  
“Pain?”  
“Yeah, some.”  
Steve followed the IV in Bucky’s hand up to the button on the tube, pressing it a few times, another smile forming to his face when he looked back to see Bucky staring straight at him, his head turned. “Missed seeing those eyes.”   
“How long’s it been?”  
“Three days.”   
“What’s happened?”  
“Nothing.”  
“Nothing? Bucky asked, his brows furrowing.   
“City’s been quiet, you paralyzed Stark’s right hand.”  
That made Bucky grin, Steve chuckling and shaking his head, “only that’s gonna make you smile, huh?” He asked, bringing Bucky’s hand up to kiss it, resting it against his cheek and soaking in the man. 

“I was here earlier today.” He said to Bucky.  
“Really?”  
“Ordered a bigger table, yeah, wider so we can fit on one end- me and you, Sam and Nat can have the other end.”  
Bucky tried to read Steve’s face, realizing the new change in the man, knowing now if someone entered the room, his hand wouldn’t be dropped from Steve’s. Another smile formed on his face, “really took a bullet, huh?”  
“Hush, let me enjoy you.”

They talked for another few hours until Bucky was barely able to comprehend a sentence out of exhaustion and the drugs, the room now dim. Steve was already sifting through the cupboards and setting up the bed on the couch.   
“Is it awful I’m scared to go back to sleep?” Bucky asked, watching Steve pile up the pillows and then turn to him.   
“Hey, you’re alright. I’m right here, aren’t I? Strange is gonna keep checking on you.” Steve consoled him, walking back over and taking Bucky’s hand, kissing his forehead, “you won’t be able to fight the sleep anyway. If you don’t wake up tomorrow, you’re still gonna come back to me. You’re healing well, Stephen told you that.”  
“I suppose.”  
“Darling.” Steve murmured, touching their noses together, “let me do all the worrying for once.”   
Bucky frowned down at Steve’s scabbed knuckles and nodded. “I love you.”  
“I’ll see those eyes in the morning, gorgeous. I've let the team know, you can't let them down, can you?”  
"Suppose not." Bucky chuckled, leaning up to kiss Steve.


End file.
